Build You Up, Break You Down
by QuestionableSexual
Summary: "But I don't know you!" Brittany protests. "But you did, and you will. You will again," You promise her and comfort yourself. "I'll help you remember." Amnesia!Brittana
1. Babel

**A/N: Story largely written while listening to Mumford and Sons. I'll let you know if the chapter has a soundtrack. Takes place after graduation. Canon through "Saturday Night Gleever". For more my twitter: TodayPerhaps and my tumblr: QuestionableSexual.**

**Soundtrack: "Babel" by Mumford and Sons.**

The beeping is the first thing you notice.

Quieter than an alarm, but loud enough to keep you balanced on the precipice of consciousness. Sleep fights to pull you away in its gentle tide, but that damn beeping, it's like an anchor.

"Britt, shhh," you think you mutter, but your mouth is lazy with sleep. You try to turn on your side, but cords wrap around you. Brittany must have left her headphones on the bed again. Maybe she went on a run. She's probably in the shower now, you smile at the thought. But then, who's rubbing your arm?

"Santana. Santana, mija, are you awake? Santana can you hear me?" After a moment the frantic whispering breaks through the fog in your brain. You try to pry open your eyelids, but they feel so heavy. You try to speak out, but your throat is so dry.

"Santana, it's okay, wake up now." That is one voice you know how to obey: your Abuela. You open your eyes only to squint fiercely at the harsh lighting. Your confusion doubles. You're definitely not at home. Your mother isn't anywhere near New York and your Abuela hasn't spoken to you in months. Are you dreaming? Everything just feels so real, and so cold, and you sure as hell wouldn't be dreaming of that damn beeping.

"Wha…whas goin' on?" You rasp. Your voice sounds strange in your ears, like you haven't used it in a long time. You blink up at your mother and Abuela leaning over your bed.

Well, _a _bed, definitely not _your_ bed.

The two women exchange a glance.

"I'll get the nurse." Your mother kisses your cheek and leaves the room. A nurse? Fear starts to creep in with the confusion blooming inside you. Abuela holds your hand and smoothes back your hair, just like she used to do when you were little and scared of the summer thunder. Abuela would come in the room you always slept in at her house and shut the window just before the rain came. Every time the lightning flashed, you would whimper. Abuela would sit in the chair next to your bed and stroke your hair and hum until all you could hear was her voice. You'd fall asleep under her gentle hands and the smell of the arroz con pollo you helped her cook earlier that day. Since before you could talk, this has meant comfort and protection.

"Everything is going to be okay." You think you nod, but you're feeling so tired again. Something important though, before you can drift off again, there is something so important nagging at you, tickling the back of your mind, tugging inside of your heart.

"Brittany?" Abuela's face darkens just for a moment and her hand pauses.

"Shhh, Tanacita, rest now." It's hard to break nearly two decades of habit, and though your heart still flutters and something whispers inside you, the beeping fades away, and you sleep again.

"_Come on, everyone is asleep now. Let's go"_

"_But, Britt, we don't _need_ to sneak out any more!" You laugh at your blonde's antics. You're both home for Christmas, well, your old home, Lima. You both live in a cramped flat in New York City and THAT is what you call home now. But really, anywhere Brittany is, that's your true home. She pulls you up off the couch and over to the coat closet. She grabs a fluffy hat for herself, and before you can protest, she has another just like it on your head. You pull a face at her, she just giggles and kisses your nose while zipping up your coat._

"_Just for old time's sake! After all," she pulls you close "that was our lucky spot." She punctuates her words by rolling her hips against yours, before you can remind her that almost _everywhere_ in Lima has been your 'lucky' spot at one point or another._

"_Mmmmm." She smiles down at you. She knows she's won and spins away, grabbing her phone off the table by the door. "Okay we'll take my mom's car." You take the keys and follow her out the door._

_The snow is just beginning to fall, and the roads are empty and dark on Christmas Eve. Most people have turned off their Christmas lights by now and the street lamps are becoming few and far between as you drive toward the cleverly named (by the students of WMHS) Make-out Point. Brittany is humming along with the tune quietly playing on the radio. You have the heater on full blast and its turning Brittany's cheeks just the best shade of pink. Still looking out at the cloudy sky, Brittany reaches over and places her hand on your thigh. You think your smile must light up the night, but the lights aren't coming from inside the car. You're coming around a curve in the street. The other car, they're just driving too fast. The streets are getting slicker with fresh snow. You really don't realize what's going on but you hear tires screeching and Brittany's hand tightens roughly around your thigh. All you can really think about is Christmas morning and the picture album you spent weeks making and the ring you placed at the end in a little carved out spot. And Brittany's smile. The radio plays a soft Christmas melody out into the darkening night._


	2. After the Storm

**Soundtrack: After the Storm by Mumford and Sons**

_"It's so pretty here," Brittany says against your hair. You can feel her smile and you lean farther back into her arms. The long grass and wild flower stems tickle your arms. The sun shines bright and warm across the overgrown field. And you. And Brittany. Her long legs are on either side of you, arms wrapped around your middle. You twine your fingers in hers and breathe the rich smells of grass and sunshine and afternoon heat. "You're not even sneezing!" You chuckle._

_ "You're right, Britt. You must be keeping all the allergies away from me," You tilt your head back against her shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling your fingers slacken their hold on hers. Brittany places a soft, warm kiss on the top of your cheek._

_ "Aw, don't fall asleep. There's so much to see," Brittany half-heartedly chastises._

_ "I'm not…I'm not" But you slowly feel yourself slipping away, the sun, the smells, the warmth, until there's just a soft pressure against your back…_

You blink open your eyes. No field. No Brittany. You're propped upright in a bed too small, too white, and too sterile to be your own. A needle connected to a tube runs out of the back of your right hand. Your left arm throbs and feels horribly stiff. It's covered in a cast from elbow to wrist. Your fingers just peek out at the end. You wiggle them a bit, but wince at the feeling. You're definitely in a hospital room. You look over and see your mother slumped over asleep in a chair. Before you can ask her what the _fuck _is going on a nurse walks into the room.

"Santana! You're awake. How are you feeling, honey?" You look at her warily, but she seems friendly enough as she grabs the clipboard at the foot of your bed and begins scribbling, taking note of various meters around the room. All hooked up to you. Monitoring you. Your mother stirs and murmurs your name, but before she can say anything to you, a sudden fear detonates within you.

"Brittany? Where is she? Why am I in the hospital?" You hear the machine that beeps along with your heart begin a frenzied staccato.

"Honey, calm down," The nurse urges. "You are going to be fine."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about Brittany, you glorified ass-wiper." Kind of a low blow, but when you're stressed your bitch comes out.

"Mija, Brittany is here too, she's just in another room. Just calm down for a moment," your mother urges. Her presence only worries you more. If she is here something must really be wrong.

"Fuck that. I want to see her," You start pulling at your covers and trying to find your way out of the mess of cords that tie you down. When you finally rip the covers off your legs you see a mass of ugly purple and yellow bruises decorating your left thigh.

"Ms. Lopez, you need to stay in your bed and relax. If you cannot calm down I will be forced to sedate you," Your once friendly nurse has turned cold and professional at the blink of an eye. Maybe insulting the person at the other end of your IV wasn't your best move. You glare at her, but she meets your stare head-on and after a moment you huff and look away. "Good, now let me go talk to the Doctor and see if it's alright for you to go see your friend." You bristle at the word 'friend', but the nurse is already walking out of the room. Your mother places her hand on your folded arms and the fight drains out of you.

"Mami, please, what's going on? Is Brittany okay? I need to see her," Your voice trembles and you feel like a little girl again, hoping your mother can make the world right. You grab her hand in both of yours. When a tear slides down your cheek, she wipes it away.

"Listen to me, baby. There was a car accident. You and Brittany went our driving Christmas Eve. Do you remember?" You take a shaky breath and think. Yes, you did go out.

"We did. Everyone was asleep already, and Brittany wanted to go…" _to Make Out Point_, but even given the circumstances, you don't want to admit that to your mother, " uh, for a drive." You remember taking your mother's car, the snow falling, Brittany humming. "It was starting to snow, but I wasn't driving fast!" You panic, you can't remember anything besides steering through the neighborhoods at a reasonable pace…but did you do this? Maybe you weren't paying attention to the road, maybe you glanced over to Brittany for just a moment too long.

"Shh, it wasn't you, "your mother comforts, "Another driver, he was coming around the bend, he was driving too fast, the road must have been icy from the snow…" You vaguely remember the headlights of another car, but then? Nothing. Your arm is obviously broken and you can feel the wrappings around your midsection, protecting your ribs? You saw the bruises on your leg and you can feel it throbbing now. "You and Brittany had to be rushed to the hospital. Your arm, mija, it's broken." Dread is squeezing your heart harder and harder, you can tell she's stalling.

"Brittany, Mom, what happened to Brittany?" Your mother's eyes cloud up, but her voice remains strong.

"She hit her head, baby. She hit it very hard. She's woken up a few times, but she's not as coherent as you are. They think…" you mother looks away for a moment and clears her throat "The doctors are saying she probably has some brain damage. They don't know how bad yet, because she hasn't been talking to anyone, just looking around and falling back to sleep…" You can't feel your heart beating any more, your breathing shallows. You know you are crying and you think your mother is trying to comfort you, but white noise is filling up your ears and blackness starts to invade your vision from the edges. You gasp for breath while your mother calls out for the nurse. Just as everything is swallowed up in darkness, you see a flash of bright blue and you think you hear Brittany's soft laughter echoing in your mind.


	3. I Will Wait

Brittany's awake.

Your mom told you that Brittany woke up three hours ago. But here you are, still standing in front of the mirror of the cold, bleak hospital bathroom and not an inch closer to Brittany's side than you were three hours ago. You feel like anything cute you could wear would look silly with a cast on, but at least you have real pajamas now and not a gown that your ass hangs out of. (Even if it is such a fine ass.)

"So far Brittany is showing some pretty severe amnesia," the doctor told you, "We're not sure how extensive or permanent this is. It's common to experience at least some memory loss after such serious trauma."

"That's okay, I'll remind her. Britt can be a little forgetful anyway, so it's no big deal right?" You ask with unabashed eagerness. Your naivety was glaring, even to yourself. The doctor took off his glasses and scratched his forehead with his wrist.

"Ms. Lopez, unfortunately, it's not that simple. She can't just be reminded. She barely knew her own mother when she first woke up and the fact is, she won't recognize you at all. Trying to force her to recall at such a delicate time in her recovery could be…detrimental…to say the least." You gave him a blank look. He sighed and his features softened. "If her memories of you are still accessible, trying to access them now, when she's fragile, may erase them forever. If she doesn't recognize you, and I can nearly guarantee you she won't, you must just remain calm and just reintroduce yourself." He places his hand on your should briefly. "I'm sorry; I know this must be very difficult for you."

You finally come out of the bathroom. You don't have any make-up, but you've brushed your hair until it's respectably tame and falling gently around your shoulders. Your mother stands from where she was sitting on your bed and pulls you into a hug.

"I don't know if I can do this," You admit against her shoulder. "How can I just pretend I don't know her? That I don't…love her?" You finish quietly. Your mother pulls you back and holds you by your shoulders. She looks you firmly in the eyes, but you shy away, hesitant. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

"Santanita, you are a strong Lopez woman. I know you can do this. You must. I'm not telling you it's going to be easy. I'm telling you it's going to be worth it." You nod fiercely, straighten your shoulders and walk down the hall, looking for room 237A. Only the rushing of your heart betrays your calm demeanor.

You know the doctors said to not show any strong emotions around Brittany, but seeing her there, so pale, and so bruised. The horrible gash running above her right eyebrow and down to the back of her temple. You can't help crying. You want to run to her, to hold her in your arms, kiss her a thousand times, but your feet stay rooted to the floor just inside the doorway, a few feet from her bedside.

As you fight not to dissolve into hysterics, Brittany stares at you, calm, if not a little skeptical. "Mom," she whispers, not taking her eyes off you, "I think I made that Lebanese girl cry, is she going to put a curse on me?" You burst into laughter through your tears. Even if she doesn't realize it, Brittany will always be Brittany. Her eyes widen comically. Now you must look really crazy, laughing and crying. You're torn between the joy of just seeing her awake and alive (and of obviously more sound mind than you, at the moment) and the horrible knowledge that she really has no idea who you are. Her mother whispers something in her ear, and gives you a reassuring smile across the room.

"Samantha?"

Oh.

Mrs. Piece is telling her your name. She doesn't even know your name. You swallow your tears. Your Abuela always told you first impressions were important, and you've already mostly made a mess of this one.

"Santana, I'm Santana," You meet those blue eyes firmly. You've lost yourself in them too many times to count, but for her, this is the first time. You reach out your hand to shake hers. The hesitation in her face melts away and she smiles genuinely at you.

"That's a pretty name. Are you a patient here too?" She looks at the cast on your arm. Her question is innocent, and such a casual nicety. You can almost, almost pretend that this is all a game. Brittany's just pretending and hasn't let you in on the joke yet. You'll be a little angry at first, but later you'll laugh about how she kept you going for so long. You let that little flicker of hope ignite and grow in your breast for just a moment.

But she drops your hand after a polite shake.

She doesn't tickle your wrist as she lets go.

She doesn't give you a quick wink.

She just smiles her sweet Brittany-smile. And just like that your smoldering of hope is extinguished.

"Yeah. I'm just down the hall a few doors," You gesture lamely with your casted arm. Suddenly you are worried that maybe Brittany will think you are a complete loser. You did just pull a total psycho move in front of her. She must see you as some beat up girl, so lonely that she's wandering into strangers' hospital rooms. Deflated, your smile falls a bit. "Okay, well, it was nice to meet you, I'd better get back." Mrs. Piece shoots you an apologetic look, but you just wave to Brittany as you back out the door.

"You too. I hope to see you, again, Santana!" Brittany beams and waves back to you. Your heart somersaults. Brittany is one of the sweetest people you've ever met. Her friendship isn't something you have to worry about gaining. You smile at her again and set your resolve.

_I can do this,_ you tell yourself. _For her, I can do anything._

"You will, Britt, you will."

_Well I came home  
Like a stone  
And I fell Heavy into your arms  
These days of dust,  
Wish we would've known,  
Will blow away with this new sun_

But I'll kneel down, wait for now  
I'll kneel down, know my ground

I will wait, I will wait for you  
And I will wait, I will wait for you

So bring my step  
And relent, _**you forgave and I won't forget**_

_-"I Will Wait"- Mumford and Sons_


	4. Hold Me Fast

You lean back, one knee bent, foot resting against the wall.

The perfect picture of casual boredom.

At least that's what you hope. The fingers of your right hand drum angrily on your left bicep. Crossing your arms is so awkward with the bulky cast. You've been standing outside Brittany's room for fifteen minutes waiting for her nurse to finish checking her vitals. When you hear Brittany giggling you push off the wall and move closer to her door, pushing it slightly ajar.

It's not like you don't trust her nurse.

Well, okay, it is like that.

You know you shouldn't judge, but male nurse just screams creeper to you. You hear Brittany laugh again and you push closer to the door. What if this bastard is trying to convince her she needs a sponge bath or something?

"Yeah, it's Christian. You know, like in Fifty Shades of Grey?" You roll your eyes; you can practically _hear _his eyebrows lifting suggestively.

"Gray…but your clothes are all green. Did I forget colors too?!" You choke back laughter at Brittany's confusion. _Take that, asshole! My Britts doesn't fall for your shit!_ The nurse, _Christian_, clears his throat.

"Ah…no, it was just… a joke," he admits lamely. "Not a very good one I guess." You hear him chuckle, trying to salvage the situation. You narrow your eyes. You are definitely going to have to set this guy straight. Brittany is yours. (Even if she doesn't know it right now.)

"Guess not…" You can hear the frown in Brittany's voice; it tugs at your heart.

"Alright, Ms. Pierce, I'll just go file these notes. Hit the call button if you need anything at all." You hear him walking towards the door so you hurry back to your casual wall-leaning. You throw in some half-hearted whistling for good measure. The nurse shuts the door behind him and nods a hello in your direction as he passes you. You throw a glance at Brittany's door before looking down the hallway after the nurse. Brittany will just have to wait a few more minutes. You need to… have a chat with _Christian _about hitting on certain blonde patients. And how he should stop immediately if he wants to be able to continue to claim ownership of his man-bits.

You see him turn the corner and hurry to catch up. You worry that he will go into some restricted section, but he just stops at the (thankfully empty) nurses' station. You walk up behind him as he shuffles through papers.

"Hi, are you Nurse Christian?" Your voice drips with sweetness. You almost choke on it. He spins around and gives you a once over with such a lack of subtly, it's almost impressive.

"That's me, gorgeous. What can I do you for?" His grin is so large it causes some of the hairs of his poorly trimmed pedo-stache to disappear into his nostrils. He leans back, his elbows on the counter of the nurses' station. You can actually see him trying to 'turn on the charm'. _Ew_. You mentally add everything about this situation to your long list of "Reasons to love the ladies." You suck up your disgust and step closer to him.

"Well, I was in the hallway earlier, and I just heard you flirting with one of the other patients," you put your hand on his chest and he chuckles.

"Aw, now don't be jealous, there's enough of me to go around." You cough to cover your gag and shake away the bad taste in your mouth. You shove him roughly against the counter. He has a sickening gleam in his eye before he notices your frown and realizes your eyes are darkening with rage, not lust. "What the-"

"Listen here, Dirty Sanchez, you will never make a pass at my girl, Brittany, ever again. No one, especially not her, wants whatever diseases you have growing under the elastic waistband of your stupid sweatpants." Christian looks slightly horrified, but you need to be absolutely sure he'll keep his perving far far away. "If I ever even hear a _whisper_ of you flirting with her again I will jam you full of used needles until you catch whatever strain of gona-sypha-herp-alaids you don't already have. We clear?" You don't wait for him to respond before spinning around, kicking over the biohazard waste bin next to the nurses' station and turning the corner back to Brittany's room.

_Snix to the rescue_, you mentally pat yourself on the back. _Disarming creepers and pervs one disturbing death threat at a time._

All the pride in the world can't stop the nervous butterflies in your stomach when you reach Brittany's door. You tug your shirt down and smooth your hair, even though you know it's confined in a Cheerio's perfect pony. Taking one last deep breath, you knock on the door.

"Come in!" Every syllable that comes out of her mouth makes your heart jump. You poke your head into the room first. Brittany is sitting up, cross-legged in her bed. She looks up at you for a moment and smiles, before looking back down at the tablet she must be playing some game on. You don't mind. Her distraction gives you time to drink her in. Her playful pink tongue pokes out slightly as she concentrates. Instead of the standard hospital garb she's wearing a tank top as blue as her eyes and faded blue pajama pants with little duck outlines all over. You haven't seen her wear those since sophomore year, but you remember the way the soft material felt against your skin, and how easy it was to pull open the silk ribbon bow that held them up. Her mother must have brought these from her room in Lima. The tank top is just a little too small. The scoop neck frames the top of her breasts and the hem stops just shy of her pants leaving a window of lightly freckled skin on her back and stomach. You lick your lips and feel your cheeks burn. You're just as bad as that nurse.

At least you're subtle about it.

"What'cha playing?" You perch on the end of her bed. Trying to remain at a friendly distance, without seeming stand off-ish.

"Temple Run, see?" She leans forward and tilts the screen toward you. Her loose hair tickles your arm and you can smell her shampoo. You hope she doesn't hear your small intake of breath. Her long fingers slide deftly across the screen, guiding her little man from all approaching danger.

"Uh..no, that's okay, you always beat me…"you stutter out as Brittany's little man face plants into a tree. She looks up at you and smiles. With every pearly white her lips reveal your heart melts a little more. You can't help staring at her mouth, her lips, her tongue deftly tracing every word.

"But, Santana, I've never even played with you before!" You realize your gaff, but she just laughs. You force a laugh along with her. "You're just trying to make me feel awesome, because my brain's all messed up!"

"No way, Britt! You _are _awesome!" She pokes her tongue out at you and pushes your shoulder playfully. She pulls her hand away, but your skin still tingles where it briefly met hers.

"You can't even know that! We just met a few days ago!" You smile falters slightly, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

"Well then, you must just be that much awesome-er." She just rolls her eyes and you grin.

"Anyway, they took me to get a CAT scan this morning," she leans toward you again and continues seriously, "And believe me that is NOT as much fun as it sounds. The doctor says I'm having 'storage failure', but I don't even have that much stuff here, so I don't see how that's possible." You know Brittany is scared because of the way she looks away from you and runs her fingers over and over the edges of her tablet. She's trying to hide it by playing dumb, but you know better.

"Hey," you say, changing the subject, "You wanna go get lunch? I heard they're having meatloaf today. We can try and guess what's in it, and tell the other patients it's made of horse meat and stuff." Brittany smiles a Brittany-smile and jumps off the bed.

"Yeah, okay."

"Do you want to change first?" You ask as she slips on her shoes.

"No, I like eating lunch in PJs. It feels like a vacation." You smile at Brittany's easy nature, but in the back of your mind, doubt brews. CAT scans are pretty serious and it's been three days since Brittany woke up and she still isn't showing any signs of remembering you. You grab Brittany's jacket on the way out and wish everything was as solid and certain as your love for her.

* * *

**Tumble at questionablesexual**

**Or if 140 characters is more your thing:TodayPerhaps**


	5. Reminder

**Soundtrack: "Reminder" Mumford and Sons **

You're placing the last of your things in your small red suitcase when you hear a knock at the door. Probably the nurse coming by to hurry you along again. You've stayed in the hospital as long as possible, but for a broken arm and some bruised ribs, a week is really pushing it. You swing the door open with a nasty scowl prepared, but to your surprise your father and a nicely dressed woman meet you on the other side.

"Papi! What are you doing here? Did you convince them to let me stay longer? You know they're being ridiculous, I know no one else needs this room-" Your father cuts you off by making light shushing noises and kissing your cheek, his rough mustache tickles your skin.

"Santana, I just wanted you to meet my friend here at the hospital." He gestures to the woman at his side. As a dermatologist, your father doesn't have must business in the hospital except meeting with friends and acquaintance which he gathers like bees to a flower. The woman reaches out to shake your hand.

"Hi Santana, I'm . It's nice to meet you," Dr. Edgecomb has dark hair, green eyes, and a low calming voice. She seems like just the person who would be caught up listening to one of your father's stories and be too polite to leave. He probably found her on the way to your room and drug her with him. You smile sympathetically at the doctor and return her greeting with sincerity. You've been stuck in that position several times.

"Mija, has an interesting job here at the hospital. She's actually a psychologist. She talks to patients and their families about how to cope with their illness or what they can do to change their behavior to help with recovery. She also helps patients and families understand how life is different after they experience something life altering like cancer or a terminal illness."

"That's really interesting," And by really interesting, you mean not at all interesting. Now that you aren't a patient you're bound by visiting hours, so you want to spend as much time with Brittany as possible. And your father and his doctor friend are seriously hampering your Britts-time. You hope the more time you spend with her, the easier it will be for her to remember you and get back to normal. "And it's _really_ great to meet you Doc, but I have to get my stuff together and head out! Papi, I'll see you at dinner though." You turn away from them toward your suitcase, hoping they'll get the hint. Your father places his hand on your shoulder to still your movements.

"Tanita, I know you want to go see Brittany, but I've asked Dr. Edgecomb to come talk to you about her. My friend, Dr. Raymon, Brittany's neurologist, gave me a call this morning to talk to me about her diagnosis since he knows the two of you are so close. He thought it might be best if Dr. Edgecomb and I talked to you about it." Your father only calls you 'Tanita' when he wants you to feel like a child and it's frustrating you. You aren't a child. You give up any appearance of patience.

"I _know_ that she is in a delicate state right now. They have already told me. I'm not a child, _Papi_. I have been to see her everyday and I haven't brought up _anything_ about our history, even though it's killing me not to! Every day I go in there and she doesn't even remember anything! I can't even hold her hand. I don't need to hear it again; I just want to know when she's going to get better." You blink away frustrated tears.

You've been trying not to think about how you have only hugged Brittany once in a whole week. Though you felt your heart bursting with adoration, you couldn't once lean in to whisper an "I love you" and let your lips linger on her cheek at the end of the "u". You hadn't heard the soft giggle that always accompanied your confession. But what you missed most of all was that knowing look she would save just for you, soft blue eyes that told you the promise you kept locked always in your heart: _I'm yours, proudly so._

"Santana, why don't we just sit down for a few moments and talk? It's come to light that this situation is a little more complicated than we all thought in the beginning." Dr. Edgecomb gives you a reassuring smile and you look to your father, who nods. You sit on the chair next to the bed and the doctors sit on the small couch adjacent. "As you know, Brittany suffered some brain damage during the accident. As you've seen, she can still speak and move normally. Her personality is even much the same, from what your father and her parents have told me. Would you agree?" You think she's just trying to make you feel better before dumping something horrible on you, but you swallow and nod anyway. "The special thing about the brain is that it can heal itself unlike any other part of the body. But as with anything, there is a cost. When Brittany injured her head she disrupted the wiring that held many of her memories. Her memories of you, Santana." She pauses, waiting for you to process exactly what she's saying.

"So it's just me? She doesn't remember me? But how is that even possible?"

"When we make memories, our brain works hard to pack them up together with similar memories, like you would pack up to move. When we remember a memory, our brain finds the box, and unpacks it. When we move on to thinking about something else, it packs that memory back up in its box. But if something happens, and our brains can't pack that box back up, those memories, just like the things we forget to pack in our house, become lost." You fidget in your chair. You don't want to hear all this, you feel like you are in school and you're being taught something you only half comprehend. "When Brittany was in the crash, she must have been thinking of you, or something very strongly associated with you. The trauma caused her brain to lose its place in repacking those memories. That's why she can't remember you specifically."

"Well how can I help her to find her memory, or repackage it, or whatever?" Your father and the therapist exchange a glance.

"Santana, you can't. She's not going to recover those memories. You can take her to the same places, tell her the same stories, but no situation or experience is ever exactly the same way twice. You can tell her things she _should_ remember, but she won't. She can't," Dr. Edgecomb clears her throat and meets your eyes, willing you to continue listening, even while your heart is breaking. "You have two options. You can try and make her who she was, do your best to reestablish the same memories, tell her stories of the parts of her life she's missing again and again. But those memories will always be like remembering your favorite book. You know every line and word by heart, but at the end of the day they aren't your words. It will just be a story you're told."

"W-What's the other option?" You don't know why you ask, you don't know if you want to hear the answer. You feel so much sorrow building inside you, rolling like snow down a hill. You haven't felt this sick with dread since you were outed.

"Let her begin again. Let her live her life and make new memories. Let her become Brittany again. It's true that our experiences help to shape us, but who we can become is a series of scales we are born with, our potentials only lie in certain ranges," She places her hand over yours, resting on the arm of the chair, "She will still be the same Brittany that you loved before." You nod and pull your hand away to hug yourself tightly.

The doctor meant to be reassuring, but all you feel is the swell of heartache, gathering before the storm.

* * *

_Together you wrestle the last box up to your tiny studio apartment. You flop down on the mattress and watch Brittany stand and stretch sore muscles. You slide your leg off the bed and stretch your foot out as far as you can to rest it on top of hers. You can feel her fine bones and tendons pull and shift as she lifts up onto the balls of her feet. She reaches down and grabs your legs, pushing you farther onto the mattress so she can plop down beside you on her stomach. You push her shirt up and run your hand down her back._

"_Ew, Britt, you're really sweaty," You crinkle your nose, but keep rubbing her back anyway. You actually think she's super hot when she's all sweaty, but you keep that to yourself._

"_Well you're the one who picked an apartment on the fourth floor!" Brittany turns her head to face you and you flip on your side and scoot closer so your noses are only inches apart. You are breathing in her hot breath, still a little deep from the strenuous move._

"_What?! No, you picked this place." You try to glare at her, but you can't keep your lips from twisting up in a smile._

"_Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have listened to me."_

"_Honey, I will _always_ listen to you." You kiss the tip of her nose and she giggles._

"_Okay, I'm going to remember that!" You just growl at her and pull her on top of you._

_You spend that first hot afternoon in the City christening your apartment with the girl you love. _

_And you listen to her again and again and again._


End file.
